Meghan lived on her own – she preferred it that way. She’d tried having a roommate in her first year of college, but the girl had a nervous breakdown two months in and Meghan spent the rest of the school year in privacy. Since then, she’d never felt close enough to a friend or boyfriend to want to live with them.
Affordable apartments for single residents were a tough find, so she jumped on a fairly cheap rent in a decent neighbourhood without stopping to look for a catch.
Her second week in, she was woken up in the night by a noise in the kitchen. She padded over, holding an unlit industrial flashlight like a baseball bat, and peeked around the corner.
A young man, eerily illuminated by the open refrigerator door, was drinking orange juice straight from the carton. Meghan was so surprised she forgot to hit him.
He took another swig and put the juice back.
“Hey.” he said.
She stared at him a few more seconds.
“I…I was going to have some of that tomorrow morning.” she mumbled.
“Well, there’s still some left.” said the man.
Meghan took a swing at him with the flashlight. It passed right through his body. He was, presumably, the ghost of a previous tenant.
He grinned and said, “Why did you think the rent was so cheap?”
Meghan went into the living room and sat down on the couch. The ghost followed her, carrying a box of her favourite crackers.
She groaned, “I just wanted a nice place to live. Some privacy.”
“Aw, that’s no attitude to have, Meg. Make the best of this situation, you, know, make lemonade.”
“Don’t call me Meg. I want to be by myself. I dislike being around people.”
“Well, you’re in luck – I’m a ghost.”
She kicked into his leg. As her foot found out, he was unpleasantly cold.
“How did you die, anyways?”
He chuckled and lifted his chin to show the collar of bruises around his neck.
“In this apartment?”
“In the closet in your bedroom.”
“Ah.”
They sat in comfortable silence punctuated by the ghost crunching on the crackers.
“What was it like?”
“It hurt. Then it didn’t hurt.”
Meghan waited a few seconds, then slowly said, “I’ve thought about it, myself.”
“Hm?”
“I’ve never felt close to anyone. In fact, I hate most people. Social interaction is a daily nuisance, and every relationship I’ve had, platonic or otherwise, was excruciating to maintain. If I was dead, if I was a phantom, I could at least get some peace and quiet.”
The ghost was silent for several long moments, staring into his crackers. When he spoke, his voice sounded heavier, much darker, and for the first time since her bat went through his spectral chest, Meghan felt afraid.
“I’d recommend you to enjoy the privacy you have while you can.”
“Oh?” she asked, trying to hide the quaver in her voice.
“Trust me,” he said, “It’s more crowded here than you’d think.”
Submitted February 16, 2016 at 11:24AM by haworthias http://ift.tt/1StZIhR shortscarystories
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